


Hotline Miami: Ceasefire

by ThatPeskyAloe



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Banter, Beer, Blood, Chapters to be added, Coffee, Comfort, Conversations, Crying, Cussing, Drinking, Dubious Morality, Fist Fights, Friendship, Gangs, Gun Violence, Guns, Head Injury, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Letters, Men Crying, Multi, Negotiations, Nervousness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paperwork, Pinky promise, Pizza, Prison, Promises, Smoking, Tags May Change, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatPeskyAloe/pseuds/ThatPeskyAloe
Summary: When the Columbians get cocky and pick a fight with 50 Blessings as well as the Russian mafia, steps are taken for both groups to undergo a temporary truce for one purpose; to drive the Columbian cartel out of Miami for good.And thus, a dramatic string of events is set in motion.[Notice: this is one hell of an AU, and is currently incomplete. Check back soon for more chapters!]





	1. A temporary agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things kick off in a dark room. The Columbian's won't know what hit em.

In a dim room in late hours of the night, four figures sat around a table.

On one side, there was a scarred, dark haired man in a white suit. His elbows rested on the table in front of him with his gloved hands clasped in front of his face. His eyes were shaded underneath, a telltale sign of a lack of sleep that resulted from the toll of recent events. This man's name was Sasha Lebedev, the current leader if the Russian mafia in Miami, and, as much as he'd loathe to admit it, he had been backed into a corner.

Around to the left, two dressed in green sat side by side. One, with brown hair and a matching beard, appeared serious with just a ghost of a smirk on his lips, like he knew something the others didn't. The other a slimmer blond, sighing boredly and inspecting the chipped black paint on his nails as if he wasn't in the room with one of the most powerful men in Miami. Their names were Jonatan and Dennis respectfully, ring leaders for 50 Blessings. Despite their general aloofness they, and their organisation too, were in trouble.

To the right, a rebellious looking young man with a green fringe sat fidgeting nervously, bouncing his leg under the table and glancing between the other three, wondering how being the leader of a small local gang landed him in this room with such dangerous people. His name was Jack, and was probably in the least trouble out of all of them. He wasn't even sure why he was there.

The Columbian's presence had grown more than ever since his Sasha's father's death, and he knew it. Pushing them back, stealing territory and taking advantage of their weakened state at the hands of 50 Blessings to fuck them over big time. Sasha had been trying his damnedest to keep things going smoothly, but almost to no avail; the mafia couldn't hold up under the assualt from both 50 and the Columbians. That was until Columbians got prideful, and decided foolishly to press 50 as well.

It didn't take 50 long to notice that agents were disappearing on the job, which was at first fine; less people on the payroll to pay. Weeded out the weaker agents. But once they were losing agents left and right to not Russians, but Columbians, they began to realise something had to be done. So they tried negotiations with the Columbians first, which got them nowhere. They were too prideful now, too power drunk, insistent that they and they alone were going to take down the Russians and thay any 'outside help' (it didn't seem to matter that it was coincidence it was helping) like 50 attacking them as well was right out. With the negotiations breakdown with the Columbians done, 50 went for a different approach. Turning to the very group they had previously been trying to wipe out themselves due to a mutual enemy.

Sasha dragged on a cigar and sighed out a smoke laden breath, eyes cold.

"Gentlemen." He began, looking only at the janitors. "I hope we know why we're here. At least, I do. But _you're_ the one's who wanted to see _me_."

"That's right." Jonatan spoke first, and Dennis hardly looked up. "We're here because we're the Columbians are fucking us both over, and we're screwed on our own."

"Precisely. So you're smarter than you look, sobaki."

"Yeah," Dennis finally looked up, a tiny frown on his face. "Seeing you guys get screwed over has been fun and all, but the Columbians are fucking us as well."

A flicker of annoyance crossed the Son's face and he breathed in slowly. "Don't screw with me, svolach. What are you proposing? Why did you go through the trouble of seeing me in person?"

"A truce of some kind. A pooling of resources until the Columbians piss off."

Sasha paused for a second and then barked a laugh, startling the green haired gentleman to his right. The janitors looked at him, frowning, until he stopped. Jonatan crossed his arms over his chest.

"And what do you American dogs have to offer us, huh?" He grinned smugly. "Your little operation has nothing on the resources we can pull."

"We have Jacket."

The smile dropped from Sasha's face as a chill ran down his spine. Jacket. The one who was almost solely responsible for massive losses those years ago. The one who killed his father in cold blood. And yet... Having the aid of such an unstoppable force would be incredible for them. His blood couldn't decide whether to run cold or boil in excitement. A lukewarm sort of surprise resulted in hearing the news.

"You say that, but... is he not in prison?" He questioned, leaning forward slightly.

"Not if we don't want him to be." The blond rocked back on his chair, seemingly bored of looking at his nails. "We have friends in high places. If we want him out, he's out. No fuss unless you make it."

Sasha couldn't deny he was impressed. He chuckled slightly. Perhaps this little organisation wasn't so little after all. "Well... Not bad."

In the slight lull that followed, the youngest finally spoke, nervous. "Hey, uh, I don't wanna butt in here, but... What's all this shit got to do with us?"

Sasha turned to face him, and the janitors shared an amused look when Jack shrank under the full force of his gaze. He stopped fidgeting, but was holding onto the edges of his sleeves with white knuckles. Being around this brand of power was nerve wracking for the leader of a fairly small gang.

"Don't misunderstand." Sasha said coolly. "You're here because you owe us."

Irritation crossed Jack's face. "Whaddya mean?! We've never started shit with-"

"Who's turf have you been running your little gang on all this time?"

The gang leader seemed to pale slightly as he cut himself off, and moved on to a different sentence. "...Fine, whatever! But why pick us?"

"That's easy, slaboumnyy. You're small. You've been around for a long time. You know Miami like the back of your hand, don't you?"

Jack swallowed. "Yeah, I guess. But I don't get it."

Across the table, the janitors chuckled. Dennis rolled his eyes. "Christ, this guy _is_ an idiot."

"Ay, shut it blondie! I don't see you tryna explain, so butt out!"

"Will you _please_ let me finish?" Sasha hissed. Jack sat back with a huff, and Dennis rolled his eyes again. "As I was saying, you're small, and you know shit. What you're gonna do for us is find out everywhere the Columbians are hiding out. All their fronts, their safehouses, everything. We want to know where they are, where they're going, and how they're getting there. Understand, sobaki?"

There was a brief pause. "Yeah, yeah. I get ya. I think we could do that, but... It's gonna take a while. And it'll cost us."

"What, you thought we weren't paying? You _are_ getting paid for this shit, so long as you do a good job. We'll be able to keep the Columbians at bay for a while putting all our shit together." He looked over at the janitors, who nodded. "But don't keep me waiting forever, got it?"

"Y-yeah. Got it."

"Good." He gave him a dismissive wave. "You can run along now. Go make yourself busy."

Jack stood up with a nod and left the room quickly, clearly eager to escape the tense atmosphere. Sasha's attention fell on the janitors again as soon as the man had slipped out of the door.

"Kinda jumpy, isn't he?" Jonatan offered.

"Tch. Don't change the subject." Sasha frowned. "We still have business. If we'll be having your... Masked maniacs on our side, what do you want from us?"

"Oh, we'll let you know when we need something." Dennis smirked. "When and where we need it."

"So you're gonna skirt around it, huh? I should have expected as much from dogs like you."

"We're flattered."

"Oh shut it. So we're having a ceasefire. We don't attack you, you don't attack us. And we work together until the Columbian cartel in Miami is fucking wiped out. Deal?"

"That's the deal."

Sasha leant across the table, shaking Jonatan's hand first and then Dennis's. He made a show of wiping his hand off on his trouser leg afterwards as he sat back down. He reached for an unlabeled bottle on the table, poured himself a drink, and slid it over to the pair. He'd need that for tonight.

"So... I know you have kuritsa. But who else have you got running around, hm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus it begins. I actually have 25 chapters already plotted, but it's just a matter of actually writing them... Wish me luck bois.
> 
> A looot more characters will show up soon, trust me.


	2. Go get it you funky little murderers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fans receive news of the truce. It's well received (for the most part).

Alex threw an arm around Ash with a laugh as they ran out the building, closely followed by Corey bringing up the rear, leaving the bloodbath they had made behind them. Tony looked up from where he had been leaning against the van to smoke and grinned at the sight of them, opening the door for them to jump in quickly. He flicked his cigarette to the pavement and leapt in behind them, slamming the door shut. Somewhere in the building someone must have still been alive, as an alarm began to ring out inside.

"Right Mark, let's get movin' here!" Tony leant forward through the seats, grinning like he'd been the one on the job. "Cops'll be here any minute with the alarms goin' like that!"

"Would you shut up and sit down?" Mark gunned the engine, revving it for show. "I know they'll be here soon, just sit your ass down!"

"Or what? You'll make- woah!"

At that moment the van lurched forward and Tony lost his balance, falling on his ass onto the cold metal floor of the van. Mark laughed, not needing to turn and see what happened, joined by the swan twins, slightly muffled behind the masks they hadn't taken off yet. Corey pulled her mask off over her head, just smiling, and offered him a hand up.

"Thanks, babe." Tony grasped her hand and let her haul him up onto the seat next to her. He made a sweeping 'fuck you' gesture at the rest of them. "See?" He said, scooting closer to her. "Corey's good to me!"

Ash rolled his eyes as he pulled off his mask. "Oh, she'll come to her senses yet."

Alex tossed her mask to the side on the floor next to the chainsaw she haphazardly plonked down, and Corey gave a pat on the back to the slightly sulky tiger next to her. Mark clicked his fingers to get their attention afterba few minutes as they pulled in to a stop next to a brightly lit pizza parlor.

"Okay guys, what'll it be? The usual?"

"I'm thinking veggie this time, for me." Corey piped up, ignoring whatever Tony mumbled about sacrilege.

"Right, so two plain cheese, two meat feast and a veggie instead of pepperoni?"

"Yep, sounds about right."

"Right, be back in a second. Don't break anything while I'm gone."

Alex chuckled. "Whatever, mom."

"Hey! Don't sass me or you're grounded, young lady."

Mark laughed as he hopped out the car and headed into the pizza place, leaving the remaining four in the van. Corey leant forward a little.

"So, no-one's hurt, right?" She asked.

Ash shrugged. "A couple bruises. Especially you, sis."

He nudged her with a chuckle, earning an indignant "hey!" and a half-hearted punch on the arm. Corey raised an eyebrow.

"What did you do, Alex?"

"Nothing, I just-"

"She fell down the stairs."

"_Ash!_"

She punched him again, harder but still not earning much of a reaction past more laughter from him. Tony was muffling a full on belly laugh behind his hand, and Corey couldn't help but snicker a little.

"Corey, not you too!" Alex whined.

Corey began trying hard to stop smiling, without much result. "I'm sorry, it's just... With all the fighting, Columbians _and_ Russians... And you got hurt on the stairs?"

Tony finally managed to get a breath to talk past his laughing. "The _stairs?_" He half wheezed. "Oh, that's... That's fuckin' funny."

"Guys, shut it! I'll push you don't the damn stairs the next chance I get, I swear..."

The door of the van slid open, and Mark leant in, putting a stack of boxes on the floor. He looked around at the four, at Alex seething and Tony positively doubled over, and then looked confused.

"What's up with you guys?"

"Nothing!" Alex said quickly.

"She fell down the fuckin' stairs." Tony wheezed.

"_Tony!_"

They headed for base once they managed to pry Alex off of Tony with no small amount of force, resulting in Tony being placed in the front seat to keep him out of easy reach. Luckily, once distracted by eating the pizza, Alex's rage abated somewhat and they were able to have a decent conversation.

"So," Ash began around a slice of cheese pizza. "Anyone noticed we've been running into Columbians lately?"

Corey looked thoughtful. "Yeah, like I mentioned. They've been showing up after we're done a lot of the time..."

"Tony spoke up from the front seat, unseen but easy to tell that he had his mouth full. "Maybe they're pissed off with us?"

"Why, though?"

"Kill stealing? They don't exactly like the Russians either."

Mark slowly brought the van to a stop in the garage, cutting the engine and hopping out to get the door for the rest of them. "Could be." He shrugged, pulling open the door. "Don't forget to take your pizza out with you."

"No need for Alex, she already inhaled hers."

"Bro, shut it!"

Corey looked up. "That _was_ quick."

They went inside, and Mark immediately sat down to eat the pizza he couldn't while he was driving. Ash flopped onto a couch on his back tiredly, but soon sat up to make room for Alex when she nudged him in the ribs, and Corey perched on the arm of one couch to eat her own pizza. Tony ate the last of his, stretched his arms out in front of him, and dumped the box in the trash.

"I could use a drink... Anyone else?" He asked, already heading to the kitchen.

"Yeah, grab me one." Mark called after him.

Ash looked up from where he was rubbing at his possibly bruised ribs. "Yeah, me too."

Tony poked his head around the door. "What about you, girls?"

Corey shrugged. "Just water, please."

Alex stole a slice of pizza from her brother and ate it quickly. "Can you grab me a soda?"

"Sure, sure." He disappeared for a moment, and then returned with three beer cans stacked in one hand with a soda can perched on top precariously, and a glass of water in the other. He passed the glass to Corey and leant down a little when he got near Alex. "Grab this before I drop it."

"Aight, aight- hey, what's that?"

Tony looked up from passing out beers. "What?"

"There's something slipped under the door, go check it out!"

"Why me, though?" He complained, cracking his beer open.

Corey rolled her eyes and nudged him with her foot, since he was standing close anyway. "Because you're the one standing up. C'mon."

Tony sighed dramatically and picked up the letter under the door, then came back and passed it to Alex. "Right, want to do the honours then?"

"Sure. Let's see..." She tore open the envelope and raised an eyebrow at the pink paper inside. "...Hey, looks like it's from 50."

That garnered the interest of the rest of the group, and they passed the letter around.

> [In the interests of security, you are receiving this information in a letter. Destroy this letter once read]
> 
> In the interests of our cause, we have set up a temporary agreement with Russian charities in the Miami area. This is a temporary measure for the future benefit of us as a whole. Please understand.
> 
> We appreciate your continued interest in our cause. America is a tune, and music often involves improvisation.
> 
> -50 Blessings

Once the letter had been passed around everyone, Mark folded it up small and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Something of a silence followed while they all made sense of it in some way or another. Corey spoke first, nodding slowly.

"So... It sounds like we're working with the Russians now?" She said, taking a drink from her glass.

"Seems like it." Ash shrugged.

"I think I kinda get it." Mark said around a mouthful of pizza. "The Columbians _are _pissed at us like you said, Tony. I'm guessing that, anyway. And y'know, the enemy of our enemy is our friend or something like that."

The twins exchanged a glance, then nodded at one another. Alex spoke. "Well... whatever. it's not like we haven't been fighting them already, kind of. I'm not gonna make a fuss."

Mark ate another slice of pizza and hummed in agreement. "Yeah, true. Whether we went along with it or not, we'd still be fighting both. So if this means we only have one group to deal with... I mean, It seems reasonable enough."

Corey put her empty pizza box to the side. "Yeah. I'm not happy about it, but... it'll work."

Tony took a swig of his beer. "I think it's bullshit. They can't _actually_ expect us to just switch sides like that. S'fucking ridiculous."

Mark sighed. "Tony, don't be difficult about it."

"The way I'm seeing it, you guys are being too easy." He scowled. "I can't believe you guys... jeez."

Ash pushed Alex's hand away when she reached across to try and steal another slice of his pizza while he was distracted. "C'mon, dude. It's like Mark said; we've been doing it already."

"I seriously don't get how you guys can...ugh!" Tony threw up his arms and went and picked his bag up off of the table, slinging it over his shoulder. "I'm goin' home. Talk to you later."

Corey frowned. "Tony, come on..."

That seemed to make him pause a moment, but nonetheless he stalked out, mumbling something no one caught and slamming the door hard behind him. Ash winced, and Mark whistled quietly, half impressed that he managed to slam the fairly light door that loudly.

"Well, he's pissed about it." He said after a pause. "He never even finished his beer."

Alex laughed a little. "Yeah, he'd have to be pretty pissed off to forget about that. Guy loves his beer. But... What are we gonna do about it?"

Ash raised an eyebrow. "What, his beer? I'll drink it if-"

"No, you dummy! Him!" She shoved him. "He's probably not gonna want to help out... That'd suck!"

Corey stood up with her empty box to take it and dump it in the trash, and gave Alex a reassuring pat as she sat back down. "Don't worry. He'll come around."

"How'dya know that?"

She shrugged and smiled, looking towards the door. "Just a guess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex is small and full of rage. Anyway, hang on for the next chapter (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
> 
> It gets more interesting I promise anskbsks


	3. Are you sure about this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Henchman has some concerns about this ceasefire. The Son, not so much.

  
Sasha looked up from where he was leant over his desk when he heard a short knock on the door. The young panther at his feet looked up too, tail swishing languidly from side to side and yellow eyes opening in interest, but was quickly soothed back to sleep when Sasha leaned down to pet it's head. This young one was less vigilant than his father's own loyal cats... But it made for pleasant company.

"Come in." He called, eyes idly looking at the door, and lightening a little when a familiar figure stepped through. "Losif! I haven't seen you in some time."

Losif cracked a smile. "Yeah. Feels like it's been a while, boss."

"Well, don't stand around! Sit down, and tell me whatever you came here to."

Losif appeared slightly nervous now, but still pulled up a chair and sat opposite him on the other side of the paper littered desk. The panther underneath stretched out a paw to bat at his foot, earning a chuckle from Sasha and a confused look from Losif, as if he couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

"It looks like Mercedes likes you, priyatel'." He smiled.

"Really? I've never been good with animals. They never like me."

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had a cat?"

Losif shook his head. "Well, yeah. But it's really Marys cat. It adores her, heh." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose we have that in common."

"Oh, you sap. And how are you lovebirds getting along, then?" Sasha leant forward slightly. "I still say she's too good for you, man."

"Probably, but we've been pretty steady recently. Wish I had more time for her... But anyway, Boss. What I actually came to ask you about- I heard about that truce."

Sasha sat back, a little annoyed he'd changed the subject. "Mhm, that's what all this paperwork is about..."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Losif... Do you really question my judgement, after all this time?"

Losif shifted anxiously in his seat, flinching. "That's not what I meant, it's just..." He trailed off.

"What?" Sasha smiled somewhat coldly. "Don't clam up on me, now."

"It's just... Those guys are tricky, you know? I just feel like this isn't what it seems like. Like it's a trick or something."

Sasha sighed fondly, tapping a pencil against the desk. "You're the overthinker as always, Losif. I assure you, if they break this little truce of ours..." His grip tightened on the pencil in his hand, and the lead snapped at the end. "we'll crush them. End of story."

"But... Do you think it'll be that easy?"

Sasha offered him a slight shrug. "We'll see. But with any luck, they'll hold up their end of the bargain. If they take the fight to us? I have Rita here with me. They wouldn't stand a chance."

As if on cue, the panther at his feet stood and stretched, strolling over to rub against the leg of the woman standing behind Sasha. Losif startled slightly; she had been so quiet and still that he hadn't noticed her until now. Which was surprising, given the fairly bright pink attire he was sure she wouldn't be hard to miss. She knelt down and stroked along the big cat's back, then looked up.

"Precisely." She said coldly despite the panther nosing affectionately at her hand. "I won't fail the Lebedevs twice, I assure you."

Losif relented, intimidated. "Alright... You're definitely sure about this. I was just concerned, that's all."

"No need to apologize priyatel'." Sasha said offhandedly. "I've known you long enough to understand where you are speaking from. But you really need to trust me on this one. If that's all," He gestured to the papers in front of him. "I have work to do."

"Of course." Losif stood up a little hurriedly. "I'll see you later, Boss. Take care."

"You too." Sasha called as he slipped out the door, then turned to the bodyguard with a chuckle, looking over his shoulder. "I think you spooked him, Rita."

She smiled, just barely. "If I wasn't intimidating, would I be your bodyguard?"

"Mhm. You've got me there." He sharpened the pencil he'd snapped earlier until it was pointed and hummed, looking down at the papers in front of him. "50 has requested quite a lot from us... They could fight a war with all these weapons."

"Are we not fighting a war?" She asked, stepping forward to look at the papers herself. The panther followed her forward and returned to it's spot at Sasha's feet.

"True, true..." He grinned slightly. "It is still quite a lot. I wonder what we'll have their dogs doing for us in exchange. Especially... Him."

A chill ran down his spine at the mere thought of the chicken masked man, and he could practically feel Rita's mood drop as well. That man was undoubtedly dangerous, and thinking about what he'd done made him unsettled, restless with nerves. But at the same time, to think they would have a raw force like that at their disposal was almost exciting; after all, if he had near ruined the Russian mafia, imagine what he could do to the Columbians. They would be unstoppable.

"I wonder..." He smiled, switching to a pen and signing off an order for a large shipment of weapons. Guns, ammo, the works, but also throwing knives. Odd. "Who else will we have to use? I hate to admit it, but that kuritsa was good at what he does... Are they all on that level, do you think?"

Rita nodded slowly. "I should hope so. They'll need to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, surprise! The bodyguard is still alive, I couldn't bring myself to kill her off (´-w-`；) and Sasha has his own panther now! But it isn't as well trained.
> 
> Losif is the henchman, in case you haven't read Bodyguard (which you should!). The name fits him really well, I think. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a little short as it's mostly just filler. Next chapter will be another introduction ✨


	4. In which Biker lacks a sleeping pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biker is bored, and a letter comes by offering a solution. Then a visitor comes by, offering a temporary annoyance.

Biker propped himself up on his elbows in bed, yawning and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He looked at the clock, and immediately groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. Fuck, it was only ten? No wonder he still felt shot. He buried his face in the pillow, but it was no use; he was already awake, brain already working on what he was going to do that day and demanding that his body got up to speed as well. With a final, and thoroughly annoyed groan, he threw off the brightly coloured covers and lay there for a minute, giving the ceiling an unimpressed look as if it was the reason he was awake.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and yawned again, pulling on the clothes he'd discarded on the floor the night before and standing up once he was mostly dressed to put on pants. He hopped unsteadily on one foot for a second in the process, almost falling back onto the mattress but catching himself. He was heading to the kitchen to make some toast, when a plain yellow envelope poked under the door caught his eye.

He plucked it from underneath and turned it over in his hands, suddenly feeling more awake as he gained interest in the situation. An unmarked yellow envelope. He tore it open, and noticed the pink colour of the paper, then discarded the envelope in the trash after pulling the letter out. He unfolded it and read it over.

> [In the interests of security, you are receiving this information in a letter. Destroy this letter once read]
> 
> In the interests of our cause, we have set up a temporary agreement with Russian charities in the Miami area. This is a temporary measure for the future benefit of us as a whole. Please understand.
> 
> We appreciate your continued interest in our cause. America is a tune, and music often involves improvisation.
> 
> -50 Blessings

He turned the letter over, checking for any other writing while a grin spread over his face. Russian charities, huh? He was smart enough to figure out what that meant, and more importantly what exactly it meant to him; a change of pace. Something new, interesting, something he'd never done before. Sure, he had his issues with the Russians, but this new turn of events was exactly what he'd been hoping for recently.

Things had gotten boring again recently. Even though 50 tried keeping things interesting for him, not wanting to just let go of someone who knew so much, tediousness had set in again in his day to day life. Boredom. But this... Seemed like he might actually get engaged in his work again.

No matter his issues with the Russians, he could get over it for this. Especially since abandoning 50 now would mean tossing out a hell of a paycheck; after he'd found out the truth and fought off the subsequent attempts on his life, he'd been presented with the offer of a _lot_ of extra pay in exchange for keeping with them and staying quiet, and more 'interesting' jobs, which he'd taken pretty quick if only to be rid of the paranoia being hunted brought. That and, eventually, he'd found that the janitors themselves weren't awful, especially considering he'd tried killing them. Once you got past the nationalism, that was.

Jonatan was pretty laid back and did some damn impressive coding work, and had at a point hooked him up with a few people he knew for cheaper weed. He was pretty cool, gave him a kind of big brother vibe. Dennis was... A fucking coding nerd, he'd found out after some time. He wasn't as good at coding in practice as Jonatan or even Biker himself, but knew a lot in theory. A little more energetic that Jonatan too, with a flawed sense of personal space that had gotten him punched more than once.

He looked up, hearing a knock on the door. Speak of the damn devil... He knew that knock. He left the letter on the counter and abandoned his plans to get toast for the moment, heading to the door and unlocking it.

"Go away." He deadpanned, opening the door anyway to see the blond he'd been expecting, though he hadn't expected him to be out of uniform. Could the guy be wearing more black? "I just got up."

Dennis gave him a scrutinizing look. "It's like, half ten. You're actually _just_ up? How do you get anything done?"

"Yeah, good morning. I guess you're coming in?"

"Yeah, that was the plan." He rolled his eyes and stepped past him, into the apartment. "I thought you'd want more details. Since you'd probably hack us and find out, anyway."

Biker closed the door as Dennis went ahead and took a seat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. He scowled a little at how he made himself at home so quickly, then sighed and went to make the toast he was going to before.

"So," said Dennis, leaning on the arm of the couch. "Whaddya want to know? I came here just to let you ask me stuff, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." Biker stuffed a pair of bread slices into the toaster. "So why are we cuddling up to the Russians all of a sudden?"

"Ugh, don't put it like that. It's for our own benefit. We're smaller than the Russians, so if the Columbians go after both of us we're gonna be the ones to go first."

"Like emptying a cup and a jug at the same time. The smaller one goes quicker."

"Exactly. So you _can_ think."

"Would you cut the sarcasm? It's _my _apartment you're in, jeez."

"Whatever. So, we're just 'sharing resources'. We basically get whatever resources we need out of them, so long as you delightful murderers on our payroll work for them too. Capishe?"

"Yeah, capishe. What sort of resources?"

"Y'know, weapons. Money for stuff we don't want them to know about." He flashed a little smirk. "We plan on getting as much out of this as possible."

"Figures. So, guns and shit?"

"Don't worry, we'll get you knives."

"I wasn't gonna ask-...okay, cool." He turned his attention to the toast that just popped. "Is that pretty much it?"

"Almost. We'll be getting a certain chicken back on our payroll too."

Damon damn near dropped the knife he was using to spread jam on his toast. "No shit?"

"I thought you might be more interested in that. Don't go taking any pot shots at him, unless you wanna die. Not that you didn't try that already."

Biker's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and he only half jokingly pointed the knife he was holding in Dennis's direction. "I swear, blondie, it's like you _want_ me to gut you again."

"No thanks. But at least wait until after we're all done with this truce."

"And how long'll that be?" He was met with a shrug. "Seriously?"

"What? I don't know how long it'll take. Could be ages, could be weeks." He stood up, pretending to dust himself off. "If that's everything, I have some important stuff to get done."

"You make it sound like _I _invited_ you_ here..." Biker took a bike of his toast. "You can fuck off whenever."

"Yeah, I'll miss you too." Dennis said, rolling his eyes. "See ya, pinkie."

"Nerd."

"Tch, speed freak."

He never bothered moving from where he was leaning against the counter, but heard the door click open and then shut again. He took another bite of his toast, and frowned. He put way too much jam on that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dennis is a bastardé
> 
> Anyway, biker's here now, wahey. I feel like I can't really poke fun at him sleeping in until ten, since I slept in 'til like half eleven today...


	5. Free as a bird (specifically a chicken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50s friends in high places let them reclaim their best asset. Said asset is confused and scared of what is to come.

There was a clock on the cell wall, a digital one so he couldn't use the hands to escape or something, but Jacket had never really bothered looking at the time. Time seemed to stretch in solitary confinement anyway; logically he knew it hadn't been more than a couple of years, though he didn't know exactly how long. He didn't ask. He wasn't told. But being left alone with his thoughts almost all of the time had made it feel a lot, lot longer. Those years felt like decades, sitting between four blank walls alone, idly throwing the same green ball at the floor where it would bounce off the wall and back into his hand. In the absence of a clock ticking, the bouncing noise was almost comforting. Days sort of merged together, but from the clock he still knew when meals were, and when he was allotted short time outside his cell.

Which was why he was so surprised when the door opened at eight at night, five hours after that allotted time.

He looked up to see two guards, on the younger side and clearly nervous. He wasn't really listening to whatever they were saying, too thrown off and confused to focus on it, but let himself get cuffed and led down a hall he didn't really remember, catching snippets of what they were saying to him. "Special circumstances", "early release", "ridiculous letting you go, you fuckin' menace".

So he was being let go? That _was_ pretty ridiculous. He knew what he did, even if it had been done in a detached way, hardly feeling like it was him at all. Whoever was calling the shots on this was clearly out of their mind.

"Sign here."

He hadn't signed anything in a damn long time, so winged it. He scrawled his initials on the page, whatever it was, in as squiggly a font as he could manage. The lady behind the bullet proof glass seemed happy enough with it, and slid him a large, clear bag. He actually felt a little glad when he recognised his letterman inside.

He was shuffled off to a smaller room to change out of the jumpsuit he was wearing, the door shut quickly behind him the moment he was uncuffed. He didn't blame them. Pulling on his jeans, his jacket (still just as comfortable as it was years ago), he rolled his shoulders. It was weird, wearing tighter clothes again. He checked in the bag, finding a smaller bag inside. His keys, which seemed like a stupid thing to give him at this stage. Change he'd had in his pocket. His dog tags. His photograph. He slipped that away into the breast pocket quickly; he couldn't look at his face right now. Not here. He knocked on the door to let the guards outside know he was done, and found himself very quickly cuffed again. Figured. He found he wasn't as nervous as he thought he might be when he heard a safety click off. They were far more nervous than he was.

He was taken to another room, searched, though he didn't know what they were looking for. Made to fill out a few more forms, which he breezed though without thinking about it too much, leaving all the boxes unmarked as required blank. He handed them to a guard, who passed them off to a lady looking next to terrified. With her blonde hair and smaller frame, she almost looked like her. But he didn't have the time to dwell on it; he was ushered off again, uncuffed. Escorted out, no less confused than he had been at the beginning of the process but unwilling to ask anything.

Not even an hour after being let out of his cell, he was standing on the street outside in the glow of streetlamps. It seemed like the only other thing on the street was a van parked some way along the road, and suddenly the nerves hit him. He reached up to hold the dogtags around his neck and worry one between his fingers, not sure whether he was happy about this or not. Where was he supposed to go from here? What was he going to do? Why the hell was he out in the first place?

From down the street, he heard the parked van toot it's horn. He jumped, looking around to see someone leaning out of the window, waving him over. Then he recognised the logo sprayed onto the side of the van, and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut, a sinking feeling overwhelming everything else. But he still walked over to the van, followed the instructions to get in the back. After all, what else was he supposed to do? He could have tried running, but in the end a van was faster than he could sprint. And if displeased these guys again somehow, there was no telling what they would do.

For now, ge thought as he climbed in the back, he'd go along with this. He couldn't- no, he _wouldn't_\- have a repeat of the last time he'd gotten on their bad side.

The van started moving pretty much the moment he sat down. In the front were two men in green that seemed vaugely familiar, a blond and a brunet. As they turned a corner, the blond turned around to look back at him, grinning.

"Good to have you back, chicken. You _will_ be cooperating, won't you?" His expression darkened a little. "We're in need of you right now."

Jacket nodded slowly, swallowing nervously. No matter how badly he wanted to hurt these people for what they did... It had to wait. He needed to know more. If it was bigger than these two, and he killed them, he had no idea what could happen to him, or Donna, or, god forbid, Nicke. He fiddled with the dog tags around his neck, holding them tight.

"Now, I'll put the terms of your re-recruitment nice and simply for you." The blond continued, aloof as if he hadn't just gotten someone on a life sentence out of prison somehow. "First things first, you'll be working with the Russians this time."

Jackets eyes widened slightly. He'd been running through the possibilities for how this would go frantically, but this hadn't even been a passing thought. The blond frowned at him.

"Don't give me that look. The Columbian's have been pushing us _and_ them. Prideful fuckin' idiots. And believe me, they aren't as refined in what they do as the Russians are."

Jacket gave him a questioning look. The blond rolled his eyes.

"I mean 'innocent' Americans are getting caught up in it, dipshit. So we decided on a little truce, to keep both of us from getting swallowed up and to keep Miami from becoming a bigger shithole than it already is. Got it?"

Jacket looked down at the floor. Innocent people... Like Donna. Like Beard. His heart sank- if they got caught up in it too... Beard probably wouldn't even put up a fight, he'd sworn not to fight anymore, he could just get killed if he didn't, and Donna; she'd come so far from the situation she'd been in before, but she could get thrown straight back into it. He held the dogtags around his neck tightly, so tightly the edges of the metal tag dig into his hand.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't, he really didn't. But he had to. For them.

He nodded.

"Great. Anyway, you'll be doing pretty much the same old shit, just black suits instead of white ones." He laughed a little, then, though Jacket couldn't see anything funny about it. "Same calls. We kept your apartment from getting sold or anything, so that's how it was before. Your car's fixed, too. We had a feeling you'd be useful again, and hey, you're one of our best. We wouldn't do this for just anybody."

Jacket kept his eyes down. He heard the brunet start talking as they took another turn.

"We're gonna drop you outside your apartment." He said. He sounded tired, and he appreciated him being straight to the point. "You'll have your first call in about a week. And don't even think about ratting on us."

He wasn't going to, but nodded in understanding when he was looked at in the rear view mirror. He was really going back to this, then. No getting around it. But at least he could tell himself it was for the good of other people, fall back on the same excuse him and Nicke had clung to years ago.

They rolled to a stop outside his apartment building, and the Blond handed him an unmarked yellow envelope. He turned it over in his hands cautiously, and he heard him sigh in an annoyed tone.

"It's just cash, dumbass, and the letter everyone else got. You'll need it. The cash, not so much the lettter."

He forced a smile along with the nod as a half hearted thank you as he hopped out the van, still reeling from the sudden turn of events. The driver gave him a wave, a toot of the horn, and then they drove off as if it was a normal drop off, like friends giving one another a ride home. He watched them go down the street until they turned and disappeared from view, and went on autopilot up the stairs to his apartment, finding the door not busted in. His hand rested on the doorknob for a minute.

So he was out. Not of 50, but prison at least. Out of prison, where he'd been for killing, only to find himself back into doing exactly that.

He needed to go see them. Donna and Nicke both needed to know what was happening. If he could, he'd get them to leave Miami, but he knew they wouldn't. Maybe couldn't. But he could warn them, at least. As he went back down onto the street and got into his car, he decided he'd look for Nicke first. Itwas just a matter of finding which one of his fuckton of jobs he was at right now.

Finding him would be the easy part. Talking to him would so much harder. But he had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacket's back babeyyyyy, and Beard is alive. Surprise! I can't kill off characters I like (;;;・_・)


	6. It's not like I care about you guys or anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony still swears working for the Columbians is bullshit.

The van rolled to a stop outside of the nightclub, pink neon signs reflecting in the windshields and bathing the pavement in their glow. Mark leaned back to look at the rest of them, ignoring Tony who was looking pointedly ahead with his arms crossed. Alex seemed raring to go, holding her chainsaw in her lap and bouncing her leg. Her excitement must have been contagious, because her brother was fidgeting in his seat, too. Corey sat with her legs crossed, checking her weapon over one last time. Mark cut the engine.

"Right, we're here. You all remember the plan this time around?" He asked.

"Yep, we all go in this time around." Ash nodded, flicking the safety off on his gun. "Just because they're an unfamiliar enemy and all that."

"You hit the nail on the head. Ready?"

"Yeah!"

"Yep."

"Whenever you are."

"I still think this is bullshit." Tony mumbled from the front seat, as the other four pulled on their masks.

"Well, you just have to watch the van, Tiger." Mark said, fishing his guns out from under the seat and hopping out the drivers side. "Not like we're forcing you to go in."

He pretended not to notice Tony's exaggerated eye roll and went around to open up the van for the other three. Alex and Ash jumped out quickly, spoiling for a fight, but Corey paused for a moment to lean forward to Tony.

"Are you sure you aren't coming?" She asked him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Like I said, it's bullshit." Tony shook his head. "Good luck to ya babe, but I'm not going."

Corey sighed. "Alright, whatever. Sit tight, then. Before I go, though..."

She leant forward and whispered to him for a moment, and then hopped out, shutting the van door behind her. The other fans caught a glimpse of Tony looking surprised just before the door slid closed.

"What did you tell him, Corey?" Mark asked casually.

"Nothing. We ready to go?"

"On the count of three, I'll boot the door in. It'll be a quick in and out with all of us."

Alex punched the air. "Let's do it!"

"Okay, here we go. One..."

Ash cocked his gun, and Mark took a step back to get some good force behind him.

"Two..."

Mark got into position, and the twins got ready to rush in. Corey readied a knife.

"Three!"

Moments after Mark broke the door open with a kick, the twins ran in. The poor bastards hanging around the door had no idea what hit them, and were a bloody mess in seconds. Despite Mark calling after them they ran off to the right. Mark shook his head and looked back to Corey, who was halfway down another corridor, slitting the throat of the first guy to check out the commotion and lifting his gun from him. Mark decided not to go anywhere near the twins and follow after Corey.

They managed the building just fine; they just didn't count on reinforcements.

Which led them to now. They'd all met up in a backroom when they'd heard shouting in the direction of the doors, a lot of it. Alex was standing by the door, ready to slice into anyone who came in, while an ammunitionless Mark checked over Corey, who had taken off her mask. She was sporting a gash above her eye which was bleeding down her face and effectively blinding one eye, which wouldn't have been a problem if there wasn't more people coming. Ash was leaning against the wall, eyes watery as he nursed a broken nose; with his eyes all teared up, aiming was nigh on impossible.

Alex let out a slow, steadying breath. "This isn't good. They're gonna come back here sooner or later."

"I know." Mark ripped a strip of fabric from his sleeve and gave it to Corey to hold to her forehead. "Shit... They're close. Everyone shut up."

Alex prepared to rev up her chainsaw though chances were, if the door opened, she'd get shot before she could do anything. Ash came away from the wall and brought his fists up, ready to back Alex up somehow without needing to aim. Footsteps drew closer, distinctly Columbian voices cussing at the sight of the mess they'd left. Alex signalled to the others that they were right outside the door.

Then, there was the sound of a commotion outside the door. Gunshots sounded all at once, then a sickening crack of a skull being caved in against the door that made the hinges wobble. A damn near scream of surprise, and one of pain shortly after. Cursing, more gunshots, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. One set of footsteps, a Columbian pleading, and the sound of his neck breaking under a heavy boot.

There was a knock on the door. The twins looked at each other and Ash moved to open the door to let Alex stay ready with her chainsaw. On a quiet count of three it was swung open to reveal Tony, blood splattered up his arms and breathing just a little hard. Corey smiled at Mark a little wearily.

"I knew he'd come around."

"Tony!" Alex lowered her chainsaw and Mark's shoulders visibly slumped with relief behind her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What's it look like, short stack? Saving your asses." His eyes went from Alex, to her brother -he winced, knowing broken noses all too well-, then to Corey. He ducked past Alex to go to her, kneeling down by her. "Jesus, that better look worse than it is."

Corey lifted the cloth held to her head to reveal the fairly small wound underneath. "It's just bloody, I'll be fine."

"Thank fuck. Hey, let's get the fuck out of dodge here."

Mark nodded. "Agreed."

Alex and Ash went ahead, again, and Corey was helped up by Tony. Once they all bundled into the back of the van, Mark hopped in the front and drove them the short route back to their little base so they could get Corey and Ash patched up quickly.

Now, Alex was holding Ash still so he couldn't squirm away while Mark set his nose back in place. Tony had busied himself washing the blood off of Corey's face and bandaging her head, then rinsing off his hands.

"Mark, fucking- ow, owowOW!" Ash made an admirable effort in twisting out of the headlock Alex had him in to keep his head still, but to no avail. "That's fucking _sore_ you-"

"Of course it's sore, dummy! It's _broken_!" Alex shifted to hold his arms behind his back more firmly. "Quit moving and get it over with!"

Tony looked up from the sink, where he was scrubbing blood from under his nails. "Man up, Ash!"

"Fuck you, you-"

Tony grinned as he got cut off by a yowl of pain when Mark finally got his nose into place, and got a beer from the fridge. He offered it to Corey first who politely refused, busy looking at her reflection in the microwave and adjusting the bandages Tony put on her. Tony shrugged and cracked it open, wandering over to perch on the back of the sofa and take in the sight of a watery eyed Ash being patted on the back by his sister.

"C'mon, it can't have been that sore, right?" She asked, and got a whimper in response. Mark returned with an ice pack for his nose, which he pressed to it carefully and slowly relaxed as the cold numbed the pain.

"So, Tony." Mark asked as casually as he could. "What happened to staying in the van?"

Corey wandered in and sat down normally, huffing in amusement when Tony choked a tiny bit on his drink, flaring with indignance.

"Wh- it's not like I wanted to!" He insisted. "I just don't like not looking out for you fucks. Doesn't sit right with me."

Alex smiled slowly. "Aww. Yeah, sure big guy."

"Fuckin... Shortass. And before ya say anything about me bein' self centered or something," he turned to Corey. "I didn't do it 'cause of what you said. It was just because it didn't wanna let you idiots get killed."

Corey smiled a little. "Sure, sure. I believe you."

Tony downed the rest of his beer, and went to go get another one, mumbling something about them being sappy. Alex looked to Corey curiously.

"What did you say to him, anyway?" She asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

Corey looked up at her and smiled. "That's a secret between me and him. Don't worry about it."

Tony came back through with his beer, and chose not to ask why Alex was sulking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Tony a lot abajbsjs I'll stop fixating on him and get back to Jacket soon I promise. 
> 
> What did Corey say to him? That's up to you lmao


	7. De Lorean Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacket sees an old friend after a long time, scared of what he'll think of him. He's pleasantly surprised.

It had taken nearly an hour of pacing the cracked pavement outside the store before Jacket finally gathered himself enough to go in. He'd seen Beard through the window when he pulled up, he knew he was there and Beard would probably look outside and recognise the car so even if he didn't go in they would see each other at some point or another, but he just dreaded looking him in the eye. After everything he'd done, all that shit in the court and the misinformation he didn't have the energy or resolve to correct... And how he'd just left Donna with him in a rush after the break in with so few words, just telling them both to keep quiet during the mess that was going to follow. He wouldn't be surprised if he was upset. Pissed off even, though Beard never seemed to get angry. He was didn't expect forgiveness, yet at the same time he was longing to know that Beard didn't hate him. Or at least if he did, knowing would give him some closure.

He took a long, steadying breath out -he wished he had cigarettes on him- and stepped through the sliding doors into the brightly lit store. Beard looked up at him with a friendly customer service greeting on his lips which died the moment their eyes met, and all the nerves Jacket had pushed aside came back full force. His throat went dry and he near froze as he watched shock pass over Beard's face, confusion. Then to his relative surprise, he smiled at him.

"Richard!" Beard still looked confused, but happy somehow. Jacket couldn't make sense of it, even as he stood from the counter and came over. He flinched back, expecting some kind of anger, anything really, but instead found himself pulled into a hug. "Damn, is it good to see you."

What? He'd been ready for anger, disgust, anything like that. But not this. Nothing seemed to be going how he expected it to tonight, but this was really out there. He couldn't do much with how his mind was going at a million miles an hour except thoughtlessly holding onto the back of Beards shirt and burying his face in his shoulder, unwilling to pull away from the comfort that had been offered to him for the first time in ages, latching on. Beard was here and, somehow, happy to see him like he always was before. The warmth was familiar, comforting.

"I saw all the stuff about the trial; after you left Donna with me, I mean. That was fucked up." Beard gave him a comforting squeeze, and Jacket almost felt like crying. "I didn't believe a word of it, honestly- I know you had your reasons and stuff. They got it way twisted."

There was a pause as Jacket processed what he said, somewhat lost in being able to hold him like this. It had been a long time since he'd been so close to him, and he realised now that he'd missed it, a lot. More than he thought he would. He was so sure he'd done away with his need for contact like this a long time but here he was, near weak at the knees for a hug from someone so close to him.

Jacket finally found his voice. "Can we..." He coughed a little. He'd gotten really used to staying silent. This was probably the first time he'd talked when he wasn't effectively forced to in months. "Go to the car for a minute?"

Beard stepped back, expression shifting to concern like he knew something was up. "Sure, yeah. I can take a minute."

* * *

Jacket really felt like crying now. If Beard hadn't hated him for what he'd done before, he was sure he'd be sickened now that he knew he was only out to go straight back into all the mess, straight back into killing people because it was all he could do. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, waiting for Beard to get out the car and slam the door behind him.

"I get it, I think." Beard said slowly, and Jacket looked up. "You're only doing this because you have to, though. I mean, you've told me what those 50 guys can do." A nervous chuckle. "I mean, they got you out of a life sentence for goodness sake. I wouldn't want to annoy them either."

Jacket lifted his head to look at him in honest disbelief, eyes stinging. Beard smiled warmly and laid a hang on his shoulder, chuckling a tiny bit at the shocked look on his face.

"You really thought I wouldn't get it? I ended up doing shady stuff too a couple of times, just to begin with. You'll be able to get out of it someday, and you can count on me to stick with you."

Jacket found himself smiling back, and got halfway through a "Thank you." when a sob finally bubbled up past his lips. Beard immediately moved to lean over the centre console to comfort him with another hug, nearly losing his balance when Jacket was the one to pull him in, embracing him awkwardly. The relief of finally just telling Beard everything and knowing that he didn't hate him for it was just too much for him to take, leading him to crying into Beard's shoulder until he couldn't any more. Once he finally quieted down, choked sobs fading down into mere sniffles, he stayed in his hold and began mumbling against his shoulder.

"Do you... think it'd be too late to run?" He asked.

Beard turned his head to the side a little, resting his chin on top of Jackets. "I think it probably is. You can see this through. Promise. I'll be with you."

Jacket moved away and looked at him with a somewhat startled expression, eyes still red. Beard looked back in a confused way for a minute before chuckling and patting him on the back.

"I mean metaphorically, don't worry." He smiled patiently, watching Jacket's expression change to one of relief. "I said I'd never hold a gun again, and I sticking to that."

Jacket let out a small sigh, saddening. "Wish I could say that."

"You will, one day." With a last gesture of a hand over his, Beard moved to sit back normally next to him. "For now, just focus on getting through this."

"Nicke?" Jacket sat back as well, head tipping back a little.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. Seriously."

"No problem." He smiled again and Jacket felt his heart squeeze; he'd missed that more than he'd realised, too. "Have you seen Donna since you got out?"

"No, s'only been a couple hours. And I don't know where she lives, now..."

"I'll give you her adress, uh..." He patted himself down. "Gimme a sec, I'll run in and write it for you."

He hopped out the car, and Jacket was alone again for a minute or two. He wondered if Donna would even want to see him, after getting mixed up in his mess... He'd never had time to properly apologize to her. In the end she'd come away unharmed, but she'd been so close to getting hurt that it hurt him just to think about. He loved her and Beard both, and couldn't bear the thought of them in pain. But for now, he just had to hope she'd even look him in the eye.

Beard returned with a torn off notebook page, an address scrawled on it in black pen. He didn't get back in the car though, just knocking on the window and waiting for him to roll it down. He handed him the paper.

"That's the place. It's not super far from mine, you should be able to find it easy. She'll be glad to see you."

Jacket raised an eyebrow. "She... will?"

"Sure as hell. She was worried about you a lot, during the trial. She really wanted to get in there and say something."

Jacket smiled a tiny bit. That sounded like her, wanting to help so badly even if it meant getting in trouble. He was glad she hadn't, though. He noticed Beard was holding out his hand to him after a moment of studying the paper, and quickly clasped it in his own.

"I gotta get back to work. Take care, man, and call me if you need anything."

Jacket nodded, and reluctantly let go of his hand so he could roll the window back up. He watched him walk back into the store, then set about pulling away onto the road.

A few minutes into the drive, he noticed a new pack of cigarettes had been left on the dash. He made a mental note to thank him as he lit one, taking a long drag.

He'd be seeing a lot of people soon, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagging as ship because we used the L word. Scandalous. (And i plan on developing it more later but ill burn that bridge when I get to it.


	8. Mutual Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50 and the Russian mafia have their first cooperative job. 50 has everything to prove, and the Son has a new interest to gain.

"So, is it 50s standard procedure to keep people waiting?"

Sasha strode over to the motorbike that just pulled up next to his car in the otherwise deserted car park. He'd been told his 'assistance' (not that he needed it) would be arriving on a red bike, and this man had. So he could safely guess it was him, even after sitting around waiting for him for half an hour. He scowled, watching with arms crossed as the man got off his bike and didn't remove his helmet. There was a large knife at his hip, throwing knives slotted neatly into his belt. 

He thought this help was meant to be 50 proving how good they were, not proving how consistently late they were. They'd even had the gall to be slightly late to that first meeting, too...

"Don't get on _my_ ass about it, commie." Came the slightly muffled reply from the man. Biker was his codename, if memory served him. Creative. "Traffic was shit."

"I've heard that one before, pink man." Sasha rolled his good eye. 

"Whatever." Biker turned to the building across the street. "Am I going in now or what?"

*"We* are going in now, yes." Sasha opened the door to his car to retrieve his two guns. "I've been waiting long enough."

Biker pulled a knife from his hip. He knew he'd be working with the Son, and was actually surprised to be- Dennis and Jon didn't often get their hands dirty, so he'd assumed that the Son would be the same, staying in the background while his henchmen did the killing, more the type to just sit there and look pretty- which he'd be decent at, he guessed. Though he doubted he was that good at it. He had a air of violence about him, though... Maybe he'd be decent at fighting too.

Before he could finish that line of thought, Lebedev was crossing the road toward the building. He frowned behind his helmet and picked up the pace, following after him. 

"Don't get in my way." The Son grinned, which somehow unsettled Biker, as he loaded his guns.

He readied his knife. "Tch, don't get in mine."

* * *

Bullets whizzed past Biker as he tossed a knife, watching as it lodged home in the nameless guy who'd been firing at him. In the other room he could hear the steady drumming noise of the fire from those two guns the Lebedev was carrying- he wondered how the fuck he was firing each one with one hand as he cut some poor bastard's throat. 

A door slamming open behind him got his attention and he saw the Son dash past him, grinning as he ducked into another room. Biker scowled.

"Oi, I was gonna take that one!" He called, dodging a bat swing and returning the favour with a deep slash across the chest to the one swinging. He got mostly laughter in response.

"Finders keepers, suka!"

"Wh-" He threw up his arms as he followed him in. "That doesn't even make any sense!"

He entered the room to see Lebedev stepping back from a small group to reload, with a look of 'ah fuck, oops' on his face. He grinned behind his helmet and stepped in, practically slicing the poor fucks to ribbons with practiced accuracy. He wiped some blood from his arms even though it was useless as he heard a low, drawn out whistle from behind him.

"Colour me impressed." He looked over his shoulder to see the Son just finishing reloading, and dully noted that he didn't seem to be carrying another refill for his guns. "Didn't know we hired a fucking blender."

"It's just what I do." He said, approaching the next door.

"And it's impressive. I kinda want to keep you."

"Pft, don't try it." 

"Maybe I will? Who are you to-"

A bout of shouting from another, further off room caught their attention. Sasha's eyes lit up as grinned madly again and dashed off in the direction of it, leaving Damon to make some kind of exasperated noise and chase after. The sound of gunfire was ringing in his ears by now, adrenaline pumping in his veins, but even he wasn't that reckless. He ducked behind a few different pieces of cover to get to the Son once he found him, ducked behind a flipped over table in a large room. He rolled forward and got to cover behind a heavy cabinet, but not before a bullet managed to graze his arm. 

He dropped the throwing knife he had readied with a clatter as he cursed, arm now bleeding, which seemed to made Lebedev notice him. He found his knife kicked back in his direction as Sasha looked up at him, one empty gun discarded. 

"You should be more careful, suka." He laughed, spraying bullets across the room, then looking at Damon, only to see him seemingly about to throw a knife at him. "Hey, hang on-"

It whizzed past him and he heard a cry of pain from behind him, glancing over his shoulder to see a man crumpling to the ground, a lead pipe falling from his grasp. A wide grin split across his face again as he looked back at him. He jumped out from behind cover, emptying the last of his bullets into the room. Each one lodged home, and when the roar died down, all the other noise seemed to as well. Biker looked at him.

"Nice."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I try."

Biker emerged slowly from behind the cabinet, and Sasha couldn't help but liken him to a cautious cat. He almost felt like making some kind of sudden noise so scare him, but alas, his chance passed as Biker walked forward to a side door. He threw it open, and there was some pleading that followed that was soon cut off with muted gurgling as the pleadee found a knife suddenly lodged between his ribs. 

"I guess that's all of them." Biker said, nudging the guy with his foot. 

"Aw, already?"

Sasha picked up the guns he'd dropped and looked back to see Biker tearing a strip from the bottom of his shirt, and awkwardly trying to tie it around his. He wandered over, a gun dangling idly from each hand, and hummed appraisingly.

"Looks nasty." He commented idly. 

"That'd be because it is." 

He let out a hiss of pain as he tied it too tight and then quickly loosened it, the task difficult with the one hand. Sasha smiled smugly and shook his head, putting his guns down on the floor and brushing Biker's hands off, taking charge of the makeshift bandage tying.

"Hey, I can do it." Biker complained, but made no attempt at moving away.

"And you were doing a _great_ job." Sasha teased. 

He finished tying the bandage easily and leant down to pick his guns back up. When he straightened back up, Biker was already headed for the door. He frowned and jogged to catch up with him.

"What's the rush?"

"You think the police aren't gonna show after all that?" Sasha could _feel_ the eyeroll that went with that. 

"Haven't you heard of bribery?"

Biker seemed to pause for a moment, then scowl. "Yeah, we don't all have the money for that, deadass."

Sasha shrugged it off and gleefully stepped outside into the streetlamps light, as though he wasn't covered in blood. Biker contrastingly saw some poor lady hurry away around a corner at the sight of them, and immediately felt as though they needed to leave pretty damn quick. He half jogged across the road and hopped on his bike, eager to make a quick getaway, when he was stopped by a call over to him from the nearby car. 

"Hey!"

The Son was leaning out of the window of his car, having already gotten in. He was grinning again, and Damon notes then that his teeth were pretty sharp. 

"What?"

"You weren't bad, pink man."

Biker paused, then kicked up the stand and revved his engine up. 

"Same to you, commie."

With that and a screech of tires on aphsalt, he sped off. Sasha watched him until he rounded the corner, green-blue helmet and pink hoodie disappearing from view along the Miami streets. He watched the empty road a moment more, and then started the car as he heard sirens in the distance. 

What an interesting man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bikon day! This will develop more at some point... Having to get this chap out for the occasion got me off my ass on this, finally.


	9. Knock knock, who's there? Someone who should definitely be in prison right now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacket finally gathers up the courage to face her again. It doesn't go as badly as he expected.

Jacket breathed in and out slowly, standing in front of the door. Beard had said she'd be happy to see him the night before, but... Would she? He'd mulled over it in prison, then at his own fixed up apartment all of the preceding day, smoking until his chest ached and throat stung. It still did, a bit. He'd just abandoned her that night, after something so horrible had happened- she'd helped him _kill_ someone for gods sake, then he'd just dumped her on Beard in a panic to just get her away from him, to stop her getting dragged into the mess that landed him in prison. 

At the time, he'd felt it was the right thing to do. But after having years to think about it, he wasn't sure anymore. But he couldn't run from it forever. He knocked. 

"Coming! Just a sec!"

He froze when he heard the familiar voice call from behind the door, regret immediately paralyzing him. He really didn't know if he was ready to face her now, but before he could rethink it and leave there were already footsteps coming towards the door, which swung open to reveal her on the other side. 

She looked healthier than before, less thin. Happier. He he saw surprise cross her face first, shock. 

"Oh my god, Richard!" She said, voice rasied in surprise that made him flinch. "You're... You're out? I thought you were in prison, how are you here?"

"I...was." He said slowly, unsure. Was she glad to see him? All he was really getting seemed to be surprise, which was better than anger, but still. "Long story."

"Well, you can tell me all about it! Get in here!"

She grabbed his hand and he almost snatched it away, but let himself be pulled inside. She was smiling. 

"God, it's so good to see you! Lemme get you some coffee or something... Do you still take it the same way?"

Still processing being welcomed, he just nodded as he sat down on the couch he'd been pulled over to, hesitantly. He looked around as she disappeared into the kitchen, and he heard to kettle click on. She reappeared in the doorway, leaning in it. 

"Nice place." He said finally. 

"It is." She was smiling. "Beard knew the landlord, so he knew I'd be okay here. He helped me move in and stuff. The landlord is actually a pretty nice lady, too..." She laughed, and he felt his heart squeeze. "Not what I expected."

There was a long pause, which he broke.

"Donna."

"Yeah?"

"M'sorry."

"For what?"

"For leaving you like that. I should've..." He coughed, voice rough. "Should've stayed with you."

He looked down, so he didn't see her expression soften, only heard her walk towards him, felt her weight make the couch dip next to him. Felt her put a hand gently over his. 

"It's fine." She said. "I'm not gonna say that it didn't annoy me at first, but... Nicke explained a lot to me. I guess I kinda get why you'd do that."

He looked up, chest sinking as he realised how much Nicke probably told her. "You're not pissed?"

"Not anymore, anyway. You were just trying to keep me safe, the whole time. Thank you." 

He looked at her with something like disbelief, at which she just smiled and leant in for a hug. Nicke can't have told her that much. He hardly even thought about it and he put his arms around her, hardly breathed as she pressed up close to him to embrace him. It felt the same as when he'd hugged Beard- a mix of happiness and a background want to cry. All too soon she pulled away, looking toward the kitchen. 

"Oh, that must have boiled!" She said, standing up to go back through to the kitchen. "One sec..."

While she was gone, Jacket took another look at his surroundings. She obviously still liked blue... The blanket thrown over the other couch and various items all about told him that much. She must still smoke too, since there was an ashtray on the table. The whole place had a homely feeling. The same feeling his own place had while she was there. 

She came back through, with two mugs- one coffee, one tea. He took the one held out to him and just looked at it for a moment before taking a slow sip. It occurred to him that he hadn't actually eaten or drank anything since he got out until now... He'd just forgotten. He'd need to eat something at some point. The coffee was good for now, though. 

"You remembered how I take it." He mumbled, smiling a tiny bit. 

"Of course! How could I forget something that simple?" She gave his a shoulder a playful tap. "My memory doesn't suck that much."

"You've been holding up okay?"

"Yeah! Nicke got me a job at one of the places he works at, so that's what I've been doing. He's really nice."

"I'm glad you're getting along."

They drank quietly for a while, and Jacket made a mental note to thank Beard later. Donna drained her mug fairly quickly and set it down with a soft sigh, sitting back. Jacket looked up from his own drink. 

"So... Nicke told me about what you were doing before." He was surprised by the lack of disgust. "Is you being out now something to do with that?"

"... Something like that. I don't think I should tell you."

"That's fine. Keeping me safe again, right?"

"Mhm." He nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I can't say I like it, but... I guess I get it. Do what you have to, but just don't die, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise?"

Jacket had finished his coffee by now, and put it down to see her holding her pinky out to him, he cracked a tiny smile and hooked his pinky with hers. She laughed, shaking his hand like that before letting go, giving him another smile that made his chest warm, but also ache. She'd made him promise to come back like this that night.

"Now you can't break this, got it?" He pointed a jokingly accusatory finger at his chest. "It's a solemn oath."

"Right. I won't die."

"You better not."

Jacket stood up, then. Donna looked up at him from where she was still sitting with mild surprise. She stood up too.

"You're going already?" She asked.

"Yeah. Don't know when they'll need me, I gotta be ready."

He found himself being hugged again, and almost forgot to hug back. It still seemed like too soon when she pulled away- he would have liked nothing more than to stay like that. But he had to go. He'd already been putting off returning to that apartment long enough. 

"Be careful."

He nodded, offered her a smile, and made himself not look back to her as he left. He'd gotten seeing Beard and Donna out of the way, reassured himself. But now, he had to get his head in the game. 

The sooner this was over, the better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donna is so fucking babey if anything happens to her I'll riot

**Author's Note:**

> And thus it begins. I actually have 25 chapters already plotted, but it's just a matter of actually writing them... Wish me luck bois.
> 
> A looot more characters will show up soon, trust me.


End file.
